Broken in Afghanistan
by Leorocks5
Summary: John is Sherlock's husband, and he's in Afghanistan. Sherlock is a new consultant at SY. When John is injured in the line of fire, Sherlock is scared for his life. How will the injury affect John's and Sherlock's relationship? Johnlock, slash, Multific. Romance/Angst
1. Chapter 1

**Hey people! I've become OBSESSED with Johnlock in Afghanistan, so I decided to try my hand at writing one of my own. Enjoy, and, as always, leave a review when you're done! Reviews are Cookies!**

**Disclaimer: Moffat and Gatiss own Sherlock- _not_ me.**

* * *

_Just give me a reason_

_Just a little bit's enough_

_Just a second we're not broken just bent_

_And we can learn to love again_

_It's in the stars_

_It's been written in the scars on our hearts_

_We're not broken just bent_

_And we can learn to love again_

* * *

Lestrade looked at his consultant anxiously. "Well?"

Sherlock, who had been kneeling over their latest case, stood and looked at the DI.

"It's _obvious_, George-"

"_Greg." _Lestrade muttered under his breath, but continued listening.

"His brother killed him, to get revenge for taking the woman he loved. Poisoned him, a fairly easy poison to come by, its just a mixture of arsenic and-"

Sherlock stopped, momentarily taken aback, as his cell began to ring. He glanced at the caller ID, and his face crinkled with distaste.

"Mycroft. To what do I owe the pleasure?" He asked, stepping away from the group. His brothers next words made Sherlock's blood run cold.

"John's been shot."

* * *

_The desert was hot, and the war was going badly. Doctor John H. Watson's regiment was trying their hardest, but there wasn't much he could do, what with the bullets raining down over them and the sweat poring into their eyes.  
_

_"You Okay, Captain?" Someone- Officer Sitwell, judging from the voice- yelled at him from his right. John nodded and gave him a thumbs-up, just as a bomb exploded. Right next to Sitwell. John stood up hurriedly, dodging bullets and flying shrapnel, his Doctor Instincts kicking in. He had to get to Sitwell! _

_He barely got there before one of the snipers got lucky. They were bound to, once in a while, and John clutched at the crimson flower on his sleeve. When he pulled his hand away, it was sticky. He foraged on. John was not about to let someone on his team die- he would never forgive himself. _

_"Hang in there, Fred." _

_He dragged his friend to the edge of the trench, then closed his eyes briefly. He would not succumb to the darkness- he couldn't! Not when he had a friend depending on him! _

_He shouldn't have closed his eyes._

_John's last thought was of the consulting detective who was waiting for him back home._

_"I'm sorry, Sherlock..._

* * *

**Reviews are Cookies! Hit the button!  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hiya, people! Guess who's Back in Black, after a major battle with writers block? That's right, this girl! I've already got another chappi written out, but you aren't getting it until I get AT LEAST fifteen reviews, so it's up to you! Review, and get another chapter, or don't... And you know what happens then. *evil laugh* Therefore, all I can say is, REVIEW! First person to review on this chappi gets a honorable mention!**

**Disclaimer: ****_not _Moffat, _not _Gatiss, therefore _not _an writer of Sherlock. Just my own little evil fantasies. MWAH HAH HAH HAH!**

* * *

_Hold on (Hold on)_

_Stay strong (Stay strong)_

_Press on (For me baby)_

_I care 4 you ( I care 4 you)_

_Hold on (Hold on)_

_Stay strong (Stay strong)_

_Press on (Press on for me)_

_I care 4 you (baby)_

_Aaliyah- I care for you_

* * *

_Previously:_

_ "John's been shot."_

_ "I'm sorry, Sherlock..."_

* * *

Sherlock froze.

"What?"

"Not now, brother dear, this is not something to be discussed over a cellular device. I shall send a car for you in, say, three minutes?"

"Sod off, Mycroft. Why don't you go shag George instead of bothering me?"

Mycroft sighed into the phone. Apparently, this call was playing out exactly as he thought it would.

"Now, now, brother dear, do be reasonable..."

"Don't tell me to be reasonable when John is dying on the front lines!" Sherlock raged into the phone, stepping farther away from the crime scene and beginning to head toward Baker Street. "My husband, Mycroft!"

"Your inner human is showing, brother dear." Mycroft snapped at him, annoyed with him because of his comment about Lestrade.

"Mycroft-"

"No, Sherlock, I am sending a car for you, and that is final. No arguments, brother, just get in the car."

"Mycroft-"

"Good-bye, brother."

* * *

John would be fine. Mycroft had promised so, though Sherlock couldn't tell if his brother had been telling the truth, or just lying for Sherlock's benefit. John would be in pain, they didn't know about the possibility of side effects, but Sherlock didn't care about that. All Sherlock cared about was the fact that as soon as John was stable, they'd be flying him to St. Bart's- and because of Mycroft, John was _never_ going back to that desert wasteland. Sherlock had never been more grateful to Mycroft ever, despite the feeling Sherlock had that Mycroft was lying to him.

When Sherlock got home, he headed straight for their bedroom and flung himself onto Johns side. It didn't even smell like him anymore- John hadn't been home in months. He barely noticed the strange, animalistic sounds he was making, or the tears running down his cheeks.

_"John..."_ He thought hopelessly._ "Please don't do this to me... You promised, you promised you'd come home in one piece... Please, John, don't do this to me, love... Come home soon, love... I need you here, with me..."_

This was the mans last thought, and Sherlock Holmes descended into a fitful and anxious sleep.

* * *

**Review or else! Mwah Hah Hah Hah!**


	3. Chapter 3

**So, it appears to be Sherlock updating week, so I decided to have in on the fun! This is gonna be a pretty angsty chappie, so just... Bare with me, yeah? **

**Shoutout to l91margaret and her guest friend, the first and last of my fifteen reviewers. There's your honorable mention for ya. To everyone else who reviewed/favorited/followed, thanks! You guys are awesome!**

**I'm aiming for 25 reviews before I update, mainly because I need time to write. ;-). But I think you guys can do it! You guys are amazing. A****s always, first to review gets an honorable mention! Go, go, go!**

**If you actually read what is turning out to be the longest AN _ever_, thanks! I really don't know how you put up with me. To all those who just skipped it... Oh, whatever. I know where Sherlock keeps the guns, after all. MWAH HAH HAH HAH! **

**Now, on with the story! As always, I don't own!**

**-Leo**

* * *

_**Previously: This was the mans last thought, and Sherlock Holmes descended into a fitful and anxious sleep.**_

* * *

_Flesh is burning  
_

_You can smell it in the air_

_Cause men like you have_

_Such an easy soul to steal (steal)_

_So stand in line while_

_They ink numbers in your head_

_You're now a slave_

_Until the end of time here_

_Nothing stops the madness,_

_Turning, haunting, yearning_

_Pull the trigger_

_You should have known_

_The price of evil_

_And it hurts to know_

_That you belong here, yeah_

_Ooh, it's your fuckin' nightmare_

* * *

_He knew it was a dream, but somehow that made it even worse. Sherlock stood in the middle of a sandy desert- he'd never actually been to Afghanistan, but his subconscious seemed to know what it was doing. Sadly. All around him, Sherlock could hear the blast of gunfire and the babble of voices echoing around him._

_No, not him. Them. _

_For standing not-to-far from Sherlock, running towards him like there was Hell on his heels, was a man. A man with sandy yellow hair and light blue eyes. John Watson was running towards Sherlock Holmes, and for once, Sherlock didn't have a care in the world. Nothing but one, and that one care was running towards him like his life depended on it. _

_But then, the dream seemed to slow down, as the man stopped, stumbled, and began to fall._

_By the time Sherlock reached John, his John, John was struggling to breathe, a crimson flower staining the front of his shirt._

_It was all so real. Too real, as John struggled to speak._

_"S-Shlk?"_

_"Yes, John." Sherlock whispered. "I am right here- John?! John!" Sherlocks voice rose to a panicky shout as he watched the only man he'd ever loved struggle for breath. _

_"Shlk..."_

_"Yes, John. Please, focus on breathing. Do not talk, just breath." Sherlock said, beginning to ramble, trying to keep the tremor of fear from his voice. John's eyes were glassy. He he took a deep, shuddering breath, murmured something, and then- nothing. The man Sherlock had loved with all his heart was no more._

_"John! John, please-"_

_Sherlock let the tears fall, no longer caring that the others in this horror of a nightmare could see, glowering in the background. For he and he alone had heard the last words of John Hamish Watson._

_"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I love you."_

_"John!"_

* * *

"John!"

Sherlock woke with a cry, the dream still fresh in his mind. His body trembled and his shirt clung to his thin frame.

"John..."

He clung to the name like a lifeline, the only thing keeping him adrift in this stormy sea of emotion. Fresh tears replaced dry ones as Sherlock curled into a ball, body still shaking like a leaf. '_Oh, John..._' He thought hopelessly. '_Dear, dearest John- do you even see what you do to me?_'

Sherlock entered his mind palace, sprinting towards the well-polished black door with a single label. He stroked it for just a second, then pushed his way inside.

The John-room, cluttered with memories and pictures and smells and the taste of John's lips and the sound of his laughter- the most beloved of all rooms in this place. It was here that Sherlock kept everything he held dear.

Far away, he could hear his name being called, but it wasn't John calling, so he didn't care. He descended deeper into his mind, pulling out memories- small, insignificant memories that were so important now.

His name was still being called- he knew that voice. Lestrade.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, I need- Sherlock!"

* * *

**And enter Lestrade! Wow. I always did imagine Lestrade as a kind of father figure for Sherlock... Guess we'll have to see where this takes us.**

**Personally, I am FREAKING OUT! Less than 24 hours to the supernatural season finale! If they kill Cas, I swear...**

**As always, please leave a review!**

**-Leo**


	4. Chapter 4

**And supernatural is officially on hiatus! Alright people, WTH saw the season finale? Oh. my. God. Dean! Ugg, I can't even...**

**so, I KNOW I said 25 reviews, but APPARENTLY I'm not getting 'em. You guys suck, jus' sayin'.**

**Ah, well. Not much I can do 'bout it, I suppose.**

**Shout-out to ****a-joleen****, my first reviewer! Sorry, I would've asked you first, but apparently whoever-you-are isn't signed in, SOOO...**

**I'm gonna aim for 25 again, hope you guys could do that for me? Maybe? Remember, first to review = honorable shout out!**

**As always, I do not own. I also am writing this on a whim, so I have ****no idea**** where the heck this is goin'. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

_You, you've got your head in a swing, yeah_

_And I, I'm trying to give you salvation_

_You appear as a devil, like a wolf in the woods_

_But you're acting exactly as we expected you would_

_I said you, you hear the words that I sing_

_It's a shock to the system_

_/_

_Falling down can feel strange_

_No one remembers your name_

_You're losing the game_

_That's the thing about trust_

_It's always the same sad story again_

_You lose all your friends_

_That's the thing about trust_

_-Neon Trees,_

_Trust_

* * *

**_Previously: "His name was still being called- he knew that voice. Lestrade._**

**_"Sherlock? Sherlock, I need- Sherlock!"_**

* * *

Sherlock groaned and rolled over, shielding his eyes from the sudden light. Had he forgotten to turn off the light before- before what? There was something Sherlock was forgetting- no wonder he normally didn't sleep. His head was cloudy, his eyes burned, and his nose felt congested. Bloody hell, did he feel awful. But what had-

_Oh._

Like a whirlwind, it all came rushing back to him- crushing him anew and making him feel like he was hit by a bus. John; the call; the visit; _The Dream. _

Stifling another sob, he buried his face once more in his pillow, forgetting the reason he'd even gotten up in the first place, until someone decided to interrupt.

"Sherlock, bloody hell, don't tell me you're taking again, I swear, I thought I told you that if you didn't stop I'd put you on cold cases for two months! Sherlock, mate, what the hell?"

Sherlock rolled onto his back, staring up at the older man. _Lestrade. Riiight- that had been the reason he'd woken from that horror of a dream. _When he spoke, his voice sounded strange- as if he was talking through Jell-o or something.

"I am not abusing any substance, Lestrade-" _Well, not any he knows of anyways. Does getting high off memories count as abusing a substance? Food for thought. _"-and, as you can probobly see since you are at least a tiny bit more intelligent than those baboons you work with, this is not a very good time. Now, if you would please escort yourself from our apartment, I-"

"Our?" Greg interrupted him.

"What?"

"Our. You said our apartment, Sherlock- have you somehow gone and gotten yourself a girlfriend?"

Lestrade was grinning rather maddeningly.

"Not my area of expertise."

that was all it took- those simple words, said before so many times, but only to one. His closest guarded secret, his actual area of expertise. _John_.

"Oh, alright then, boyfriend?"

Sherlock glared up at the older man, quickly becoming bored with this conversation. He wanted to be _alone_.

"For someone who is with _my brother_, Lestrade, you do seem awfully dull sometimes. Of course not."

"Then why did you say our, Sherlock?"

Sherlock rolled over, away from Greg. He was done with this conversation.

"C'mon, Sherlock, you know you can tell me- I promise I won't laugh," Greg wheedled. "Please?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"I'll put you on cold cases for two months."

"No you won't, you need me too much."

Greg shrugged.

"Wouldn't stop me. It'd be good for the guys to learn not to rely on you, anyways. So, you gonna tell me?"

Sherlock sighed in defeat. If John was here, he'd be all over Sherlock, showering him with kisses and trying to get him to 'let it all out, Sher.' But John wasn't here- Sherlock was alone in this.

"Fine." Sherlock muttered.

"Please, She- wait, what?"

"I said fine, don't make me regret it, George."

He sighed and slipped off the necklace he'd started wearing after John's second tour of Afghnistan- a pair of military-issue dog tags and a wedding band. **(Credit to I'mEnglish'courseIDrinkTea for this idea!)** He handed it to Lestrade, whose eyes were full of questions. He flipped it over to show the engraving on the back.

_'Property of Lieutenant Colonel John H. Watson_

_5th Northumberland Fusiliers, Combat Surgeon, RAMC'_

"Sherlock?" Greg asked slowly. "Who is John H. Watson?"

* * *

**And there we have it, people! Remember, 25 reviews... Or else. I'm not afraid of hiatus!**

**(Actually, on a side note, I am actually _terrified_ of hiatus. Especially supernatural hiatus. Supernatural hiatus will be the death of me.)**

**well, whatever. REVIEW!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey, Y'all!**

**So, I have t' take back what I said before about you guys Sucking, 'cuz the morning I posted it, I went on a Three-Day trip to Washington, DC. And when I came back, you know how many reviews I had? 30. That's right, Thirty. Three-Zero. I LOVE YOU ALL!**

**On a side note, I GRADUATE MONDAY! THAT'S TOMORROW! Yay me! On to high school! Wish me luck, people. ;-)**

**Honorable mention goes out to l91margaret, who seems to get her kicks by reivewing me first thing. I love you! You are awesome. **

**Now, a note about this chapter. I think it's gonna be angsty and all that, but I just sat down and went, "well, how fluffy can I make Sherlock without having him totally OOC?" We'll see where it takes us.**

**Enjoy, and I don't own nothing!**

* * *

_Look at this photograph_  
_Every time I do it makes me laugh_  
_How did our eyes get so red?_  
_And what the hell is on Joey's head?_

...

_We used to listen to the radio_  
_And sing along with every song we know_  
_We said someday we'd find out how it feels_  
_To sing to more than just the steering wheel _

_-Nickleback,  
Photograph_

* * *

**_"Sherlock?" Greg asked slowly. "Who is John H. Watson?"_**

* * *

Sherlock leans his head back against his pillow and sighs, just the mention of the name worming it's way into him bringing back memories. How to- Ahh.

"Tell me, Greg. What can you deduce from that?" He nods at the necklace. Greg looked stunned, whether from the fact that Sherlock got his name right or that he asked him to deduce something, Sherlock didn't know.

"From this? I dunno..." He studies the necklace in his hands, then looks at Sherlock, a bit nervous. "It's pretty old, isn't it? At least a year. And it's been through a lot...but it's a pair of army dog tags, so that's kind of obvious. And it obviously holds some kind of sentimental property to you... Otherwise you wouldn't wear them 'round your neck, right? But Sherlock, this isn't telling me anything about who John Watson is."

Sherlock sighed. "Dear god, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring."

"Sherlock..."

"Fine, fine." Sherlock sighed and hesitated, unsure of how to begin. "John Watson... John..." The three words broke him, and a sob broke from his throat like a thunderclap.

"John..." Lestrade let him take a minute, watching the other man worriedly. Whoever this John Watson was, he obviously meant a lot to Sherlock. So then why had he never come up in conversation?

Finally, Sherlock seemed to get a hold on himself, and looked up. The look in his eyes scared Greg- the younger man looked broken, but he had made up his mind. There was no turning back now.

"You are correct about the necklace. It is a year old, has been through part of a war, and holds great sentimental value to me. However, this does say much about John."

He took a second to gather his thoughts, then continued.

"John Hamish Watson is the most extraordinary mundane I have ever met. He is amazing at everything he does- perfection at its best. He-" his voice cracked, but he forged on, "He knows exactly who I am, from top to bottom, inside and out, and still manages to see the best in me and love me like no other. From a brief meeting, he is the most ordinary person you'll meet ever. But there is so much to him- layers and secrets hidden behind a friendly face and a fuzzy jumper. Even I do not know everything about him. He went to war, not for personal gain or because he wanted to seem brave, but because he could help people. Hence, the RAMC. He's the kind of person who will comfort you when really, he's the one who needs comforting, because that's just who he is. He... Well, you get it now."

"Oh, Sherlock... I do get it, I get you are scared for him, but why the sudden breakdown? You seem _proud_, almost, that he went off to war."

Sherlock laughed bitterly. "Oh, I am proud of him." His face fell, and he sighed. "But two days ago, he was shot in the line of fire, defending a comrade. Besides that, pieces of shrapnel buried themselves in him, and he almost didn't make it. I'm- I'm not even supposed to know this, Mycroft _lied_ to me to protect me, but I did a little research..." He trailed off, then snapped back to reality. "Anyways, I do not know why I am so outrageously freaked over this, but... You did ask."

"Yeah, I did." Greg muttered, feeling like he was invading Sherlock's private life. But he didn't _have_ to tell him... Or did he? Anyways, it was good for him to get it off his chest. "So... How'd you two meet?"

* * *

**I know, I know, real short chapter, but I figured this way I could do the next chapter(s) as a series of flashbacks, Sherlock sharing with Greg bits and pieces of his and John's life together. **

**I expect no less then 40 reviews on this before I put up the first! Think you guys can do that? After the last time?**

**Let's see, hmm? Push that button!**


	6. Chapter 6

**And I am back, after a schedule of what was basically summer camp, hiatus, writers block, visit a foreign country, more hiatus and writers block. And I know, I suck. Big time. I'm sorry, if it helps, but it probably doesn't.**

**side note- Peter capaldi? I'm sorry, haters, but two episodes in and I'm in love. He's fantastic, and I don't give a shit about your opinion.**

**lets see... Oh! Big time shoutout to lmargaret91, my (once again) first reviewer. You rock!**

**i apologize for any mistakes, this was written on a touch screen at one in the morning. Bear with me.**

**disclaimer: I do not own! Unfortunately.**

* * *

_Take me back to the creek beds we turned up_

_Two A.M. riding in your truck and all I need is you next to me_

_Take me back to the time we had our very first fight_

_The slamming of doors instead of kissing goodnight_

_You stayed outside till the morning light_

_Oh my my my my_

* * *

**"So... How'd you two meet?"**

* * *

_It was actually almost ironic, how Sherlock Holmes met his soulmate. After all, John Watson was only doing what he knew best; protecting others. _

_Sherlock was a only seventeen when he started Uni- younger than any other person here, and that not only alienated him, it also made him a constant target. _

_It didn't matter what for- a failed test, drunken classmate, or just the need to hurt someone. But for some reason, Sherlock always seemed to get the brunt of it._

_This particular time was no different._

_"Faggot!"_

_"Freak!"_

_"Psycho!"_

_These particular boys were not very intelligent, but they were very strong; And the barrage of beatings only continued to rain down on the smaller boy, until-_

_"Hey! Leave him alone!"_

_The voice was one he'd heard only in passing; head of the football team, shorter, very attractive, if the females in his school could be trusted. _

_There were sounds of a scuffle, and then... Silence._

_Gentler arms, touching him, holding him close, and the single sentence Sherlock would remember for the rest of his life._

_"My name's John. John Watson."_

* * *

Once Sherlock had started talking, it was as if the floodgates had opened, and Sherlock did not shut up. He talked about everything- from their first date (John had insisted on taking Sherlock to see a museum exhibit about old criminals; Sherlock had enjoyed it more than he expected) to highlights of their career (the _idiot_, Lestrade! Just standing there, so confused, as John held that gun to his head. Even went and said to him, "you're not allowed to bear arms. Oh, how we laughed after that!) and Sherlock was just telling Lestrade about how he'd asked John to marry him (after a mad dash after a criminal, almost dying repeatedly, and ending up in that park where he just got down and _did it)_ when Sherlock's mobile rang. He picked up immediately, listened, and then turned to Lestrade, once again emotionless. Well, almost, but Lestrade could see the fear in his eyes.

"Saint Bart's. Now."

* * *

**We're** **getting John next chapter, I promise! And I have lots and lots of angst planned...**

**Review! Tell me what you thought of the flashback! I must know!**


	7. Chapter 7

**I am so, so sorry how long it took for me to update! Hopefully this very fluffy, long chapter makes up for it...**

**Kudos goes to: *drumroll, please* l91margaret! Gods almighty, girl, is like your first reaction, "she posted five seconds ago! Let me go review!" Or something? Not that I'm complaining, though...**

**You are EPIC and I love you!**

**Disclaimer: not a rich middle aged man who enjoys torturing poor fangirl's souls... Just a 15 year old with no purpose**

* * *

'_Lights will guide you home_

_And ignite your bones_

_And I will try to fix you'_

* * *

John Watson was smaller than Lestrade had imagined, that was for sure. Lying there in the white sheets of the hospital bed, his 5"6 frame seemed almost... Miniscule. Greg didn't even know why he'd imagined him taller: maybe because Sherlock himself was such an imposing figure? Regardless, John Watson was far from what he'd imagined. Besides the initial shortness, John actually wasn't so bad looking; nothing compared to Sherlock or Mycroft, the other Holmes brother Greg has met and actually... Liked (_Okay, more than liked. He'd harbored a secret crush on the man until he actually got up the confidence to ask the older man out; and now they were close. Intimate, even. But that was okay._) but good looking nonetheless. Blonde hair, attentive blue eyes, broad and muscled. The man had been flipping through a paper when they walked in, but looked up when Greg cleared his throat, Sherlock hanging back uncertainly. "John Watson?"

The man smiled wanly. "That's me. You know, I've only been here a couple hours, but you'd think the doctors would've learned my name... I try to make sure I do, at least."

Lestrade looked at him for a few seconds and the man blushed. "I'm sorry, that was rude. I'm just... Not used to this sitting around thing."

"What? No," Lestrade said quickly. "I'm not a doctor. Actually- I've brought someone to see you."

John's expression darkened for a second, then cleared as Sherlock stepped out from behind Greg.

"_Sh-Sherlock_?"

* * *

_John_.

Hospital bed.

Wires. Machines. Do. Not. Touch.

**_John_**.

Does. Not. Compute.

"Sh-Sherlock?"

**_John_**.

Sherlock hesitates, wavering for a second but it's John, John is here and everything is okay because it's still John, even surrounded by the machines and wires and-

**No, Sherlock!**

Calm.

Deduce. Yes, deduce.

_Shot in the left shoulder (idiot! You knew that already!) psychosomatic limp in left leg. (Get rid of that easily enough) traveled via helicopter, has three abrasions on left frontal through nasal bones, presumably shrapnel, and other, older abrasions from different types of arsenal, and- _

"Sherlock, love, you're thinking too loudly, I can't concentrate."

John is smirking, the little bastard, and Sherlock cannot take it anymore, so he kisses him. John tastes of sweat and action and something hospital-ey, but underneath it all he is still John, John, John-

And John is kissing him back, and Sherlock is almost regretting not doing this before, before John pulls away, face screwed up in pain.

"_Bloody_-"

"John!"

Sherlock panicked, which was a little extreme but this was John, John sitting there with his face scrunched up in pain, and Sherlock did not want to see that. Nope. Not at all.

John looked up at him, face pale, but trying to smile for Sherlock's sake.

"It's alright. I'm okay, just... Hold off on the grip for a little, 'kay, love?"

Despite the obvious pain in John's face, he forced a smile as he looked at his idiot of a husband. "I'm okay, Sherlock. Really."

"No, you're not." Sherlock muttered. "Various cuts and abrasions, made most likely from flying shrapnel, lines signifying both lack of sleep and anxiousness, presumably from all the people you've treated, tremor in your left hand, not because you're in pain, but because you're-" his breath caught. "You're nervous. Why are you nervous?"

John smiled again, and this time it's not forced.

"Brilliant. You know, I've missed listening to you do that?"

"Don't change the subject, John. Why are you nervous?"

John glanced away.

"Sherlock..." Greg said, stepping away slightly. "Maybe I should..."

"Yes, yes, of course..."

"No." John's voice is steady, and he smiles at Greg. "Let's restart that, shall we? Reintroduce ourselves. If you're that Detective Inspector Sherlock's always going on about... Well, we'll probably be seeing a lot of each other."

"John!" Sherlock's tone is shocked. "Is there not _other_ times for that? Especially a time that is not right now?"

"Sherlock, love..." Lestrade can tell that John is trying to keep himself from laughing, looking at his husband with such humor in his gaze, and he has to marvel at it. How the hell did Sherlock find someone so right for him, so accepting of him?

"No, it's alright." He interrupts John and Sherlock, but he doesn't feel bad about it- why should he? It's not like they haven't got the rest of the day to talk. He hands John a slip of paper. "If you ever want to grab a pint. Or just get away from him."

John looks up at him and smiles. "Thanks. I'm sure I'll be needing this." He hesitates, then gives a grim smile. "I'll see you around, Detective Inspector."

"Please, it's Greg." He smiles and turns to leave, practically feeling Sherlock's thoughts of "_get out, get out"_ being yelled at him from across the room.

"I'll see you soon... John."

* * *

**ANNND... THERES THE NEXT CHAPTER! I recently got pages on my NEW IPHONE 5C, so hopefully j should be updating many other stories very soon.**

**Soo... Until** **next time, then!**

**Drop a review! Get** **me to 65?! I think you can do it... Please?**


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